


Lotus

by Author_of_Kheios



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety Disorder, College AU, Depression, Healing, M/M, Masterpiece Soulmate Tattoos, Multiple Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Eight-Limbed Yogic Path, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: Mental illness can make anyone's life hard, but lacking the support of family and friends makes it even harder. Genji never thought he'd find his soulmate, and when he does, it's a dream come true. Until...
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	Lotus

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome welcome! I'm beginning to like this format for my Overwatch fics~
> 
> Anyway, just a couple of notes before you jump in. This is a college au, so some of the characters are younger and may act a little ooc for what we know about them in-game currently. More importantly, Genji specifically suffers from anxiety and depression, two lovely mental illnesses that I have the pleasure of battling as well; this fic is mostly a cathartic experience for myself based on what happened when I took a yoga class for school.
> 
> WARNING!!! There is a trigger warning for rape about midway through the fic; please do no proceed if you are sensitive!! This also draws on some personal experience; I won't say how, but I understand the pain of it and I don't want anyone needlessly reliving their experiences.
> 
> If you are okay to proceed, then please, enjoy! Don't forget to kudos, comment and subscribe!

The pulsing of the bass line reverberates through his chest, a familiar feeling as comforting as a welcome embrace. But it's the only thing comforting tonight...

"Hey, gorgeous," a deep, sultry voice purrs in his ear, loud enough to be heard over the music but not so loud as to startle him; a practiced balance that speaks as much to the man's experience in picking up partners as the gentle touch to his hip and the calculated brush of groin to backside. "You alone?"

He wants to say yes, to let go tonight and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, to allow this man whatever control he craves and just be used. He wants to forget everything and just  _ be _ .

He should never have come out tonight, not in this mindset.

"No," Genji answers, pushing the man's hand from his hip. "My soulmate is with me."

The man releases him instantly, raising both hands as he steps back, apology written into every corner of his features.

"Sorry, man; I didn't know," he says quickly. "I didn't see your mark."

"Forgiven; it isn't in a place where it can be shown off easily yet."

"Yeah, I get that," the man grins. "I don't have mine yet, but I'm hoping it'll start in plain sight."

"Best of luck then." Genji watches the man wander off between the scintillating bodies on the dance floor, almost regretting the need to trick him; he seemed nice.

A sigh escapes as he finishes the last of his drink and he drops the plastic cup into a trash can on his way out. The music fades to a dull thumping when the door closes behind him and he waves off the attendant offering to stamp his wrist; the cover charge he paid when he entered is good for the whole night, but he won't be back so there's no need.

Cool breezes toy with his dyed waves as he walks toward home, drawing his attention to the velvet sky strewn with countless glittering specks. For a moment, he pauses and simply stares at it.

Somewhere out there, someone else is looking up at this same sky, and that someone is wondering where he is,  _ who _ he is, what he's like, if he even exists.

Or not. Maybe he's one of those unlucky few destined never to meet his soulmate.

His mood dips further and he drops his gaze to the ground, hunching his shoulders against the breeze and hurrying home.

"Out partying again?" an irritated voice growls while he's carefully removing his shoes in the entryway. "Where is tonight's partner?"

"No partner," Genji grunts in reply. "Despite what you think, I'm not a whore."

"Could have fooled me," his brother humphs.

"Can we not do this tonight, onii-san? I just want to sleep."

"You have class in the morning; if you skip again, I will have no choice but to tell Father, and I am not waking you up either."

"I know, I know," Genji mutters, exasperated. Ignoring Hanzo, he goes straight to his room and collapses face-first on the bed.

When he's done being dramatic, he stands and strips out of his fancier clubbing clothes to tug on a softer, more comfortable sleep shirt and a pair of pyjama pants. Then he slides into bed, dragging the blanket over his head and setting the alarm on his phone when he reaches out to plug it in for the night.

With luck, tomorrow will be a better day.

∆V∆V∆

Luck has abandoned him.

Genji wakes to a shoe ricocheting off his head and an angry demand that he turn off his alarm, which, when he checks it, has been ringing for six minutes.

Fortunately he gave himself an hour to prep for class.

Not that it really helps when he doesn't even want to leave his bed, and a numbing unease makes him so queasy he can't even step into the kitchen without gagging, much less make himself breakfast, or lunch. Groaning softly, he forces himself into the kitchen for a banana that he stuffs into his messenger bag, and then scurries out as quickly as he can without getting in his brother's way.

Hanzo shouts at him to get going or he's going to be late, even though he still has plenty of time to make it to class. He doesn't bother responding as he tugs on his shoes and grabs his jacket. Only after he steps outside does he realise rather belatedly that he's still in pyjamas. Sighing, he mentally throws up his hands and momentarily debates going inside to change. But if he does that, he really will be late, and he can't afford to miss anymore classes, even if he really doesn't want to go in the first place. So, he dismisses it and starts plodding down the street toward the campus.

His first class of the day, Advanced English, is quiet as always, more lecture and video than anything, and being that he already excels at English and the class is mostly just for credit, he spends much of the period idly sketching dragons.

The second class, Business Management, is cancelled because the teacher had a family emergency. The note on the door says to look for an email from the teacher by morning that will have the homework and the reading. He sets a reminder on his phone to check his email tonight before bed and takes a short nap in the library to avoid people.

The third and final class of the day, Public Relations Studies... has a sub.

Genji frowns when he steps into the classroom and sees a monk at the desk, hardly any older than the students, dressed in soft white and gold robes with nine perfectly circular dots arranged neatly in a square on the front of his bald head. Genji's never seen him before, and the anxiety caused by that fact keeps him hovering just inside the door, gripping at the strap of his messenger bag.

"Are you one of my students?" the monk asks, attention still focused on a paper in his hand; it takes Genji several seconds and a gentle smile from the monk to realise he was talking to Genji.

"I- Where's Professor Amari?"

"Unfortunately, she is sick today," the monk says in apology, wincing sympathetically. "I am Zenyatta, from the Shambali monastery outside of the city. I will explain everything once the entire class is here. Please, have a seat."

Genji settles cautiously in the seat nearest the door, silently wondering if he can just bolt now before he makes a massive fool of himself somehow.

Damn, this isn't a good day... And yesterday was just fine until he saw that couple with matching floral patterns trailing up their arms. Why did  _ that _ have to be a trigger?

The monk checks the clock above him and clears his throat loudly to get everyone's attention, jumping right into roll call.

"Good," he nods once he's finished. "Now that I can match names to faces... My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, and as you can see, Professor Ana Amari is not here today; she caught the flu last night and expects to be unavailable for the week. You may still email her with questions or concerns, but know that I will be available 24/7 this week as well."

"How come  _ you're _ teaching us?" a voice pipes up from the middle of the room. Genji vaguely recognises her; an up-and-coming gamer named Hana Song known as D.va in the lower pro leagues. She's one of the only people he's actually talked to in his classes, otherwise he wouldn't even know her name.

"Yeah, how do you know Professor Amari?" one of her friends asks; Genji can't recall her name, just that her gamer tag is D.mon.

“Believe it or not, she and my mentor are very close; I have known her for a very long time. When she fell ill, she asked my mentor to teach in her place, but since he is far too busy for that, I offered to do so instead.”

“What does he do?” someone else asks. “Your mentor, I mean.”

“He is a civil rights activist,” Zenyatta answers lightly, not seeming at all bothered by the questions. “Currently, he is somewhere in Thailand, I believe, organising a sit-in.”

“Wait, are you talking about Tekhartha Mondatta? Are you related to him?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the monk laughs. “He and the other Shambali monks adopted me and I took his name.”

Genji shudders subtly at the reminder of how much power a name can hold; what he wouldn’t give to get rid of his own...

Zenyatta glances at him, making him uneasy, and then raises both hands, calming the room.

“Alright, my pupils, enough questions for now; if you would like to know more, I am available after class. Now, if I understood Ana correctly, you have just begun the section on crisis management. If you would please take out your books, but do not open them just yet. Mm... Shimada-san. How would you define crisis management based on your reading?”

Cold terror grips his spine and it takes everything he has to maintain a steady voice and expression.

“I forgot to do the reading, but what I know from previous experience is that it involves dealing with something important and unexpected.”

“Wonderful!” Zenyatta smiles brightly, his focus spreading to the room as a whole and leaving Genji to breathe a sigh of relief and dry his shaking palms against his pyjama pants.

Maybe luck hasn’t  _ entirely _ abandoned him, because the monk doesn’t call on him again, despite engaging the rest of the class in a deep discussion that somehow catches and keeps everyone’s attention for the whole of the period. Everyone is so into it that the only reason anyone realises the period is over is because someone walks in, stopping and looking around in confusion.

After assuring the newcomer that they are in the right place and that class simply ran a little long, Zenyatta calls out the reading assignment for next class period and asks for at least a hundred words describing how each of them would handle one of the crises brought up in class. Genji tries to sneak out quickly and quietly at the head of the pack, only for Zenyatta to cut him off, drawing him away from the door.

"Shimada-san; a moment, please," he hums softly, nodding at the passing students as they bid him farewell, but otherwise ignoring them so they don't intrude. "I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be rather unsettled during class. By no means do you have to explain anything; I just wanted to make sure you are alright."

"Fine," Genji mutters, looking forward to getting home so he can go to bed and sleep off a bad day.

"Are you sure?" Zenyatta persists. "I know we are still practically strangers, but I have been told I am a great listener."

"Like you said," Genji returns, mildly irritable now, "we're practically strangers." The monk eyes him for a moment, oddly bright sea blue gaze piercing through his hastily erected walls, and yet, still nods, accepting the response.

"Just know that I am here if you need someone to talk to." Reaching out, Zenyatta grips his shoulder for a moment, trying to be encouraging and only succeeding in boosting his anxiety far more; unable to form a reply, Genji ducks out of his hold and all but runs from the room, shoulder prickling with the ghostly reminder of unwanted touch all the way home.

Hanzo hasn't returned from his last class, which only runs about half an hour longer than Genji's, and he takes full advantage of the time he has to break down in the entryway; numbness spreads through him, a shaky sort of panic rattling down to his bones, and every breath he takes seems weak and lacking, not enough to fill the expanse of lightheadedness consuming him. He loses track of time and only the jangle of keys in the lock draw him out of his anxiety attack enough to scramble to his feet and kick off his shoes; he's hurrying down the hall toward his room when Hanzo steps into the entryway.

"Genji? You're late getting back; you didn't even start supper, did you? It's supposed to be your day to cook, remember?"

"I- can't; I have a paper due tomorrow," Genji lies, pushing down his rising panic long enough to get to his room.

"Damnit, Genji!" Hanzo snaps. "I'm not making you anything!"

"That's fine; I'm not hungry anyway." He closes the door quickly before his brother can start lecturing him about the importance of three square meals a day.

He's still anxious, but at least the interruption cut into the momentum that was threatening to spiral into a full blown meltdown. Trembling, but slightly more capable of breathing now, he strips out of his pyjamas to take a shower, hoping the heat and the pounding massage will help ease the anxiety trying to crush him. The clothes go into the hamper in the suite bathroom, and he reaches into the shower stall to turn on the water, faltering when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Yeah, he looks like shit, but that's to be expected. And of course he's familiar with his muscular figure, toned by a high metabolism and lots of exercise; his sharp features, a gift from his father's genes; his warm amber eyes, a gift from his mother's genes; and his vivid green waves showing brunet at the roots, a gift from his own pocket.

What catches his attention, however, is the small lotus flower blooming on his shoulder. A mark that most definitely was not there this morning.

For a split second, he wracks his brain frantically trying to remember who touched his shoulder today, and just as quickly he realises with a plummeting gut that it can only be one person: Tekhartha Zenyatta.

∆V∆V∆

For two days, Genji dreads his next PR Studies class. His depression lifts noticeably, but his anxiety is worse than ever the morning he wakes and readies to face the person he never thought he'd meet. He's up even before his alarm, which he set earlier than usual, and that means he's awake before Hanzo, so he quietly picks out a pair of dark jeans and a lavender button-up, slips into the kitchen to make a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, and covers the remaining portion, leaving a note for his brother apologising for his laziness lately. He's lacing his boots and grabbing his nicer coat when he hears Hanzo coming out of his room.

"I made enough for both of us," he calls out even as he's opening the door. "I might be a bit late tonight, but I'll bring some takeout with me."

"Don't forget!" Hanzo calls back sharply, grating on Genji's already frayed nerves and making him that much more on edge. He tries to ignore it on his way to campus, tries to mitigate the feeling by focusing on the steel gray sky and the biting metal scent of coming snow.

Advanced English passes with all the speed of a dying snail, and he struggles to pay any attention; it's good that he has already mastered the language or he'd never pass this class. Business Management isn't much easier; fortunately, the teacher is vaguely distracted throughout class and eventually lets them leave early.

Even if he'd thought he could handle lunch and made himself something, he wouldn't be able to eat, and he decides to make use of his extra time before class. Luckily, Zenyatta is in Professor Amari's office. Not so luckily, he's chatting with a couple of students that Genji doesn't recognise at all; presumably from one of Professor Amari's other classes.

He hesitates in the doorway, gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly, and Zenyatta notices, smiling warmly.

"Good afternoon, Shimada-san," he greets between the light laughter of the other students. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I... just..." Genji can't form a proper sentence, his gaze fixed on Zenyatta's face.

Could this man really be...? Of course he knows that everyone is supposed to have at least two or three soulmates in the world, and that the only way to find them is through touch, but could that be wrong? Is it possible that the first mark just doesn't show up for a couple of days? Maybe it's someone else entirely, someone from one of the clubs, and Zenyatta just happened to touch that spot before the mark fully formed. Maybe...

Genji can feel the cold sweat of panic trickling down his spine, and by the curious glances of the two students in the room, some of it must show on his face.

"My apologies, Ella, Roland," Zenyatta speaks up casually. "Would you mind if we continue this conversation another time? I am absolutely fascinated, but I have a class shortly that I need to prepare for."

The students mutter acquiescence, gathering their books and bags and slipping past Genji with curious frowns. He turns a bit away from them, avoiding eye and physical contact. When they're gone, he swallows past the lump in his throat and takes a shaky breath, gathering the courage to step into the office.

"I... want to apologise for my rudeness last time," he says all in a rush, bowing quickly and keeping his head down so Zenyatta won't see the flush of embarrassment and panic. "I am so sorry for what I said; I didn't mean to snap at you. I- I have... depression, and anxiety... and it was just a really bad day for me."

He can feel his heartbeat in his shoulder, thrumming wildly through the lotus like it has a life of its own, and he's certain he'll find more petals, or maybe some leaves or something added to it by the time he gets home tonight.

"I see," Zenyatta says softly. "Do you have medication?"

Genji flinches sharply, remaining bent over, fists clenched tight at his sides to keep them from shaking.

"...no. Father..." He can't bring himself to say the words, to tell a stranger ― even someone who is supposedly a soulmate ― of his father's unyielding pride. But it seems he doesn't have to; Zenyatta hums in understanding.

"I see," he says again. "Have you considered alternate methods to help reduce the hormonal imbalances and mood swings?"

"Alternate...?" Genji echoes slowly, perplexed and unsettled by how easily the monk is speaking; there is no pity like he's used to hearing, no disbelief or scepticism. Zenyatta truly seems to care, and Genji can't wrap his head around the idea that a complete stranger would care about his mental wellbeing.

"Yoga is an excellent way to reduce stress and control mental illness," Zenyatta explains, standing and gently ushering Genji further into the office so he can close the door. "The regular exercise promotes health and healing, and the intensity helps focus the mind. I personally find it to be my favourite way to meditate." He smiles, gesturing for Genji to have a seat.

“Yoga.”

“I know; such a hipster concept,” Zenyatta teases, sea blue sparkling with humour as he settles against the desk, hands folded neatly in front of him. “But if you are still in need of physical education credits, you can take it this spring and get a credit hour for the semester. And as a bonus, I will be teaching it.”

“Bon- Why-?” Genji is still stuck on the fact that the monk cares, unable to process the teasing, much less the offer. “Why would I care...?”

Zenyatta’s smile is warm, soft, infinitely tender. Unfolding his hands, he turns his palm toward Genji, revealing a lotus flower with vines stretching along the lengths of his fingers and curling up his wrist.

“You match, do you not?” he asks gently. “You did not come here to apologise, or at least, that is not the only reason you came.” Genji stares, grabbing at his shoulder instinctively, and Zenyatta trails the fingers of his other hand along the mark. “I always thought mine would be one of the monks... but I am hardly disappointed.” He cradles his hand to his chest and a tiny part of Genji’s mind restarts.

“Wh- You aren’t upset?”

“Why would I be?” Zenyatta chuckles. “I know who you are now; I have waited many years to meet you, and now that I have, I am delighted by the opportunity to get to know you.”

“But...” The rest of Genji’s brain is still blank with shock, leaving him unable to form a coherent thought.

“You have doubts?” It’s more of a statement than an actual question, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Class is beginning soon. Stay after and we will talk, alright?”

“But I-”

“After, Shimada-san,” the monk says firmly, still smiling warmly. “I promise.”

An hour and forty minutes. He can wait that long, can’t he? He has to, so he nods, however reluctantly.

This time, he manages to engage a little in the conversation, and every time he contributes, Zenyatta graces him with a small, approving smile. The shock wears off eventually, but now Genji finds himself at a bit of a loss as to how he’s supposed to deal with this whole situation, and his dilemma isn’t made any easier when Hana suddenly gasps and jumps up in the middle of Zenyatta’s explanation of how he handled a crisis for one of Mondatta’s speeches.

“You have a mark!” she exclaims excitedly as all eyes turn to her. “You didn’t have that two days ago!”

“How very astute,” Zenyatta laughs, casting a subtle glance at Genji, who sits rigid with abject horror. “I do indeed have a new mark; a lotus.” He raises his hand, palm out to show it off.

“Who is it?” Hana’s friend demands, equally eager. Genji stiffens, blood draining from his face, but Zenyatta merely smiles and taps a finger to his lips.

“That is a secret, my dear; would  _ you _ kiss and tell?”

He winks. He actually winks, and the room dissolves in muted chaos, Hana and her friend’s squealing the loudest. Genji relaxes, giving the monk a slight nod of gratitude. Zenyatta bites back a smile and settles on the edge of the desk, allowing the students to fall into a discussion of marks, as some of them have one and want to show off. One of the students, a musician of some kind, has two marks, one only slightly bigger than the other, twining over and through each other across his back and down one arm, and he becomes the center of attention until Zenyatta finally cuts into the noise with a raised voice.

“Since we are unlikely to get back on topic, I will not make you stay. Make sure you do the reading and I believe you have a paper coming due soon? You can use the extra time you have this evening to work on that. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, Professor Amari will be back on Monday.”

Immediately, there’s a rush to leave. Hana and her friend scurry to the front, demanding to see Zenyatta’s mark, which he calmly shows, allowing them to inspect it.

“So pretty! What does it mean?” Hana squeals excitedly.

“The lotus is a symbol of purity, enlightenment... rebirth,” Zenyatta explains, raising his free hand in a light wave to a student who waves on their way out. “I have a feeling it will be important to our relationship in the future.”

Genji tries not to think about the implications of that, tries not to think about the future, period; it still hasn't quite sunk in that this is truly real, and he fears that any sort of analysis will reveal some great big cosmic joke.

Oblivious to his internal dilemma, Hana and her friend ooh and awe over the mark for a few moments before they finally leave, chattering about their hopes for their marks and soulmates, and Genji's stomach suddenly twists in knots. For once, however, he isn't sure whether it's from anxiety or anticipation.

"Walk with me?" Zenyatta requests, folding his hands in front of him and tipping his head toward the hall. Gathering himself, Genji stands and joins him.

"Are you really not upset?" he dares to ask as they meandre back toward Professor Amari's office.

"Why would I be?" Zenyatta hums, glancing at him. The monk is a few inches taller than Genji, and standing next to him like this, having to look up to meet his gaze, emphasises that fact; Genji pushes away the thought that Zenyatta would have to bend down to kiss him.

“You are... so social. I...”

“If you say that you do not deserve me or anything of that ilk, I might just slap you upside the head.” The monk gives him a stern look, and embarrassed heat creeps up his neck.

“I don’t,” he mutters. Zenyatta tsks and raises his hand.

Reactively, Genji swats his hand away, and Zenyatta snatches his wrist, tugging his arm down and out of the way so he can try again. There’s a moment of awkward scuffling, but then Zenyatta is laughing and Genji swears his heart leaps in joy.

“Look at you,” the monk chuckles, vivid gaze skipping fondly over Genji’s features. His hand comes up as though to touch Genji’s cheek, but when Genji tenses, he stops, fingers curling and smile softening. “Do you know why we have multiple soulmates, Shimada-san? Because pursuing compatibility is a choice; I cannot force you to love me, anymore than you can force me to love you. We may have matching marks, but that does not  _ have _ to mean anything. Personally, I would very much like to get to know you, in any capacity, because I believe the Iris does not make mistakes, but how far that goes is entirely up to you. I would even accept, however reluctantly, remaining no more than substitute teacher and student.”

“I... It isn’t that I want nothing to do with you,” Genji replies slowly, putting words to his thoughts carefully. “I am still struggling to believe this is more than a dream... I thought I would never receive a mark.”

“Why not?” Zenyatta cocks his head, curiosity untainted by judgement. Genji shakes his head lightly, shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders hitched defensively.

“...Who would want to come near someone as broken as me?”

“Brok- What do you mean?” the monk asks, genuinely perplexed. Concern is rising in his expression and he stops walking to face Genji, catching his arm but immediately letting go.

“I don’t even know where to begin...” Genji mutters, unable to look at the monk.

A moment of tense quiet passes between them, and then Zenyatta takes a deep breath, folding his hands.

“Do you like coffee, Shimada-san?” he asks suddenly. “There is a delightful little shop just off of the campus that sells a phenomenal salted caramel latte. The place is quiet, peaceful; I find it a wonderful location to meditate. There is rarely very many people there after the morning rush, which typically ends around nine, nine-thirty.” He pauses and then timidly suggests, “It would be an excellent place for a conversation.”

After a quick hesitation, Genji nods and Zenyatta’s smile returns.

“Tomorrow?”

“I look forward to it, my dear.”

∆V∆V∆

He’s in a state of pure awe on the way home, and only remembers when the apartment is in sight that he promised to bring takeout, so he backtracks to the nearest store and buys a couple of instant ramen cups, some sweet bread and a six-pack of beer that Hanzo doesn’t hate; it isn’t his preferred drink, but Genji knows he only drinks sake on special occasions.

“I’m home,” he calls when he enters, removing his shoes and coat by the door.

“Took you long enough,” Hanzo calls back, sounding exasperated. He appears in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and scowling. “I was about to make  _ myself _ something, since you were taking so long.”

“Sorry,” Genji hums absently, thoughts still too tangled up in the idea of a date that he hardly notices his brother’s mood. “I’ll heat some water if you put the beer in the fridge?”

Hanzo’s gaze narrows at him, scrutinising him suspiciously as he takes the offered case.

“...You’re distracted,” he notes warily.

“Hm? Oh, sorry...” Genji fills the tea kettle with water and places it on the stove. “I’m just thinking.”

“Hmph. Well, don’t let the water boil over. I’ll be in my room.”

The water does not boil over, and Genji makes up a whole tray for his brother, taking it to Hanzo’s room and setting it just inside the door. He taps his knuckles against the doorframe to get Hanzo’s attention and then goes back to the kitchen to eat his own food. Without meaning to, he finds himself wondering what Zenyatta has for supper, and he shakes that thought from his head, cleaning up the kitchen and taking a beer with him to his room to do some homework. As he passes Hanzo’s room, he hears his name and hesitates.

“...is a mess,” his brother is growling. “He rarely does anything around the apartment; I have to cook and clean everything. I am fortunate he has enough sense of propriety to do his own laundry... If I do not go insane by the end of the month, I will be stunned.” He can hear a muffled laugh and response over the phone, and Hanzo scoffs. “I doubt it; by some miracle, he managed to remember to bring home supper as he promised, but apparently he believes instant ramen and sweet bread are an acceptable meal. Maybe I am spoiled on the pictures you send of the food you make, but I honestly do not see how anyone could believe that is a healthy supper.” The next reply makes him laugh, genuinely amused and oblivious to Genji’s plummeting mood. “I would love that; I can hardly wait for the end of the semester... Are you sure the drive won’t be too much trouble? I have enough in my savings for a plane ticket.”

Genji has heard enough; he goes quickly to his room and shuts the door quietly, leaning against it. Tears bite behind his eyes and anxiety threatens to choke him in another attack.

Two attacks in as many days... It’s been a long time since he struggled this much. Just as before, there is no chance his father will allow him to go to a doctor, so he does the next best thing: stripping, he takes a long, hot shower and pulls on his softest sleep clothes to burrow into bed, not even bothering with the beer.

As he’s tugging the covers up, he catches sight of the lotus on his shoulder. Leaves curl out from it and vines twist almost halfway down his bicep.

Zenyatta suggested yoga. The class may not start until next semester, but he can start now, can’t he?

Well. Tomorrow, because he has no idea where to even begin.

Covering the lotus, he presses his cheek to his shoulder, wishing he could ask Zenyatta about it now. Morning can’t come soon enough.

∆V∆V∆

The Twisted Bean is an amusingly ironic location to meet a monk, but the atmosphere is perfectly pleasant and welcoming, and Zenyatta is already present, seated comfortably in one of a cluster of armchairs and bean bags in an alcove off the main room. He’s cradling an enormous mug in one hand, a tablet in the other that he seems to be reading from, and the image could not possibly be more incongruous against the pristine white and gold monk’s habit he wears. For a moment, Genji stands at the entrance to the alcove, wondering how on earth they can be soulmates, until Zenyatta shifts to take a sip of his drink and happens to glance up as he does.

“Shimada-san,” he greets with a bright smile, locking the tablet and setting it aside. “Have you ordered a drink yet? If coffee does not interest you, the smoothies here are perfectly balanced between sweet and fruity, and the pastries are positively sinful.” He quirks a teasing brow, mischief dancing in his vivid eyes, and Genji pretends his heart doesn’t skip a beat at the sight the monk makes, a contradiction of existence too gentle and welcoming to be real.

“I ate breakfast already,” he lies. “And coffee doesn’t help my nerves.”

“Then have a seat,” Zenyatta suggests smoothly, not missing a beat as he waves toward the nearest chair and sits forward. “If I may be so bold... When did it first become an issue? Your mental health.”

At least he doesn’t have to come up with a way to broach the subject... Genji lets out a small sigh as he cautiously sinks into the chair nearest the monk.

“When I was a teenager,” he answers quietly. “I first realised something was wrong my sophomore year of high school, when the thought of going to a party made me sick to my stomach. It wasn’t until just before graduation that I was finally able to put words to what it was.”

"And your father will not let you get medication?" A flinch is the only reply, and the monk moves on. "What does your mother think?"

"She doesn't," Genji snips reactively, too used to the jabs of bullies picking on a motherless child. Then he winces. "Sorry..."

"Do not apologise," Zenyatta says gently, shaking his head. "It is my own fault... I see that I have touched on a sensitive topic; I did not mean to poke at an old wound."

"It's fine; you didn't know," Genji dismisses, shrugging.

“How long has it been?”

“...Too long,” he answers, staring at his hands. “And yet I still think of her all the time.”

“You loved her.” It’s a statement of fact, but he still nods.

“Things were... easier, with her around,” he explains.

“Easier?”

“Father was... kinder. She calmed him.” He hesitates, taking a breath. “They weren’t soulmates ― it was an arranged marriage ― but he listened to her. She always had an opinion, and she knew just how to say it so that he listened. We-” This time he breaks off entirely, and Zenyatta cocks his head.

“We...?” he prompts. “A sibling?”

“My... brother...” That’s all he manages to get out before the rising anxiety seems to steal all oxygen from his breath; no matter how many times he inhales, it’s never enough.

Suddenly Zenyatta is beside him, one hand on his back, the other gripping his tightly.

“Shimada-san, breathe with me,” the monk says gently. “Can you do that? Listen to my breathing... Breathe in... Hold it. No, no; you need to hold it, just for a moment, okay? Breathe in... hold it. Breathe out... Hold at the bottom. Just like that; very good. You will be alright. Breathe in, hold. Breathe out, hold. In, hold. Out, hold.”

Never in his life has Genji come down from an attack so quickly, and never has he ever been so calm after; his hands aren’t even shaking. He does feel weak, though, and he leans on Zenyatta for support.

“There you go,” the monk murmurs, hand sliding around him and stroking his arm gently. “Better?” Genji nods reluctantly.

“How...?”

“Yoga,” Zenyatta smiles. “Specifically, pranayama. Breathing.”

“Breathing is part of yoga?” Genji asks sceptically, deciding it’s too much trouble to move away from the monk but shifting to look up at him.

“If you would take my class,” the monk chuckles, brow quirked in amusement, “you would learn that breathing is an integral part of yoga, and that yoga as a practice is far more than the poses you are no doubt familiar with thanks to the misrepresentation of media.”

“I would say I doubt that, but...” A quiet sort of gravitas falls between them. “I... don’t think I’ve ever felt... this  _ good _ before. Not so soon after... Not without some serious self-care.”

“If you would like,” Zenyatta says after a moment, “I can teach you some breathing techniques. It will help. And come spring semester, we can work it into the class.”

“You’re really set on getting me in this class, aren’t you?” Genji scoffs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Zenyatta’s responding smile is wide and warm, a hint of teasing returning to his features.

“Of course; what kind of guru would I be if I did not plug my class at every opportunity?” He taps Genji’s nose, surprising him, and stands, returning to his own chair. As he moves, Genji spots a new addition to their mark on the inside of the monk’s wrist; he doesn’t have to check his shoulder to know he has a matching symbol woven into the vines.

“Zen, what does that mean?” he asks, pointing. The monk follows his gesture and turns his hand back and forth for a moment before realising what he means.

“Oh. Hm. I am not sure...” A divot forms between the monk’s brows, mildly confused curiosity. “I have seen it before, somewhere... I will ask Mondatta tonight; he is returning late this evening. I believe it is a reiki symbol, but I cannot remember which.”

“Reiki?”

“Energy healing,” the monk explains. “It is an alternative medicine that parallels quite closely with chakras and creating balance within an individual.”

“Alternative medicine? Is it something I could do?” Genji isn’t sure why he asked, but if it’s something that might help him, surely there’s no harm in trying.

“I do not see why not,” Zenyatta shrugs slightly. “But again, I would have to ask Mondatta; he knows more about it than I.”

“I guess,” Genji says carefully, “this means another coffee date?” He’s rewarded with a bright laugh.

“I would like that. Same time?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, a strange sort of warmth bubbling in his chest like a living thing. Hesitating, he rubs absently at the base of his neck, trying to drum up the courage to speak his mind. “I- I appreciate your help. With...” He gestures randomly, expansive to include everything he can’t put into words.

“It is always my pleasure to assist another,” Zenyatta smiles. “But it is my delight to help you.”

By the time he gets home, only two things occupy his thoughts: Zenyatta’s clear adoration, and that fact that he didn’t comment on the nickname.

∆V∆V∆

One coffee date turns into two. Two turns into three, four, ten... A month passes. For the first time, Genji isn’t terrified of losing himself anymore. Zenyatta encourages and validates him near constantly, and though he still keeps to himself, he has never felt more confident. It gets to a point that he openly flirts with Zenyatta, who teases and flirts back without hesitation.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...” Genji says one day, the two of them settled in the same bean bag in front of a quaint little fireplace in the Twisted Bean. He’s absently tracing the lines of the vines wrapped around the anchor on the inside of Zenyatta’s elbow, a new piece of the mark that formed a few days ago, the first time Genji allowed himself to be the one to initiate touch.

“Mm?” Zenyatta watches him trace the lines, hand resting on his thigh.

“Is all of this acceptable for a monk?” Zenyatta blinks, vivid blue skipping up to meet amber. The mischief in Genji’s gaze belies the straight-faced expression, and the monk gets it, chuckling.

“Perhaps not,” he hums, moving his hand to cover Genji’s. “But if that were so, I would proudly renounce my vows.” Genji scoffs, hiding a smile as he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t- Don’t do anything for my sake,” he says after a moment, serious now. Withdrawing his hand from under the monk’s, he tugs the sleeve of Zenyatta’s sweater down over his arm and rests a hand on his wrist. “Not like that. Don’t... change yourself. For me. I like you just as you are.”

“As do I,” the monk smiles warmly. Shifting suddenly, he faces Genji. “May I kiss you?”

“Wh- Kiss me?” Genji echos, taken aback.

“Yes.” Zenyatta quirks a teasing brow, practically smirking. “It is quite a phenomenal experience wherein I place my lips against yours.” Genji can’t help but laugh, which adds a spark of pride to Zenyatta’s smile.

In answer, Genji leans in, just touching the monk’s jaw to guide him so there’s no awkward bump of noses or complete missing. Flesh meets soft flesh in a light, tentative touch, chaste and timid, testing. It only lasts a few short seconds, but neither quite pulls away, staying close enough that their lips brush ever so slightly, breath mingling in an invisible cloud of coffee and hot chocolate.

An unusual sense of embarrassment settles on Genji’s shoulders at the sudden intimacy lingering between them and he blinks, turning away to hide the rush of heat up his neck and into his face.

"Do not hide from me, my dear," Zenyatta murmurs, reaching up to gently pull his chin back around. "You are so beautiful... mind, body, and soul. I can only imagine how stunning you would be with all three in balance."

"You flatter me," Genji humphs, trying to pretend his heart doesn't best a little faster at the words.

"I speak only truth, Shimada-san."

"Please... Genji."

"Genji," the monk beams, delighted. He leans over to kiss Genji's cheek and in that moment, Genji knows he will never stop pursuing this relationship.

∆V∆V∆

He’s on cloud nine when he waves goodbye to Zenyatta at the entrance to the coffee shop, and he decides to take a scenic detour on the way home. The view of the city that he finds is spectacular, and he makes a mental note to bring Zenyatta here if he can; it all depends on whether or not he can get up the courage to ask for a date somewhere other than a coffee shop.

He sits on a bench at the overlook, watching the city breathe while the sun creeps to its crest. At lunchtime, he heads back, more relaxed and at ease than he has been in a very, very long time.

Because of his lightened mood and his daydreaming, he doesn’t hear the slap of running shoes until they’re right behind him, and when someone slams into his back, he assumes automatically that they didn’t notice him. Then strong arms wrap around his chest and he’s bodily lifted, thrown into the nearest alley before he can even think to struggle. He stumbles, crashing into a dumpster and barely keeping on his feet; his attacker catches and throws him down anyway.

“Let go!” he snaps, rolling and trying to throw his attacker off. A hand curls into his hair and slams his face into the cement, dazing him.

“Shut up, slut,” a guttural voice growls above him. All he notices is that the voice is male.

“Get off me!” he tries again, still struggling. The attacker slams his face into the cement again, and then again, and again. Genji can’t think straight anymore, and the attacker makes use of his distraction to tear at his clothing.

It takes him far too long to realise what’s happening, and by then the attacker already has him half stripped, forcing two fingers into his mouth. Terror sweeps through him and he snatches at the attacker’s arm, biting down hard on his fingers. The attacker squawks in pain and jabs him hard in the kidney in retaliation, grabbing his wrists and wrenching them behind his back.

“Stop!” Genji cries, trying to twist his arms free and only succeeding in straining his shoulders. “Help! Somebody!”

“I said shut up!” the attacker snarls, grinding his face into the cement. Wedging his legs between Genji’s, he spreads them a bit and then untangles his hand from Genji’s hair to reach down and open him up.

“Please, no; stop!” Genji begs, to horrified to fight back for a moment.

Blinding pain rips along his spine blossoming through his hips and compounding with every thrust that follows, dry and tearing until enough precum has leaked from the attacker’s cock to coat his insides with a thin film of slick, easing the passage so it doesn’t feel like he’s being split in two. That doesn’t mean it’s any less painful, however, as the attacker simply adjusts himself and rails him all the harder.

“Hey! Police; stop right there!”

More pain spikes through his body, and then a haze of aching humiliation settles on him, fogging everything. He lets himself hide in it for a moment, until he realises he’s alone. Or rather, not alone, but no longer being assaulted; a gunshot draws his attention to the pair wrestling at the mouth of the alley just as a stocky older woman in uniform collapses and a sturdy man closer to Genji’s age stumbles back, splattered with the woman’s blood. He stares at her, and Genji does the only thing he can think to do: he runs.

Fortunately, Hanzo isn’t home today; he left yesterday for the week of Thanksgiving break, which means Genji can hide at home without fear of being discovered. All he wants right now is to take a shower and clean away the filthy touch of that bastard, then curl up in bed and never come out.

The shower does nothing to help the feeling of being dirty, but it does ease some of the aches and pains, and it no longer hurts to walk. Sitting it still near impossible, so it’s only with careful ease that he settles into bed.

It hits him rather suddenly a few minutes later... He was just raped. And no one will ever believe him.

∆V∆V∆

He’s late. He’s never late. The one time he had to cancel because he had a paper to finish, he came in person to explain before rushing home to do his paper. Zenyatta regrets not asking for his phone number; he may not have a cell phone of his own, but at the very least, he could call from the shop’s landline and make sure everything is alright.

Something is very wrong, and Zenyatta can’t think what, but whatever it is, Genji is going to need support.

Just in case, he waits a few minutes longer, just long enough to drink his hot chocolate as quickly as the heat will allow; maybe Genji is just running late because it snowed last night.

Then again, maybe he’s sick and can’t even get out of bed to come tell him.

Zenyatta goes straight to the administration building, checking the directory for student records and going directly there. Fortunately, he recognises the adorable woman bundled up behind the desk with a steaming mug in hand while she considers something on the screen of her computer.

“Dr. Zhou,” he greets. She looks up, startled, and then beams. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” she says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of her neck and looking away. “I noticed yesterday that the records for the senior undergraduates were messed up; there are at least a dozen students who might not graduate if I don’t fix this. So I gave Annie the day off while I reorganise the files and figure out what went wrong.” She cocks her head, realising something. “What are  _ you _ doing here, Zen?”

“I am afraid it is not for pleasure,” he says grimly. “I need an address for a current student.”

“Eh? What for?” she asks, perplexed. “You know I can’t just give out that kind of information.”

“I understand, but...” How can he explain this? Mei-Ling Zhou is a very practical woman, cheerful as she can be, and if he doesn’t have a good reason, even their friendship won’t be enough. Silently hoping Genji will forgive him for this, he says, “I need the address of my soulmate. He did not arrive for a meeting this morning, and... I fear something may have happened.”

“You met your soulmate?” Her soft brown eyes widen in surprise and delight. “What’s his name?”

“Shimada Genji. Please, Mei; I would not ask if I did not think it important.”

“I understand,” she nods, setting her mug down and pushing up her glasses as she begins typing. “Let’s see... Shimada... Ah; here we go! Shimada Genji and Hanzo. They live together in an on-campus apartment on Birch. Number 413. I’m surprised; it’s paid for through the end of next fall.”

“Their father paid for it,” he explains without thinking. “He pays everything, so long as they continue to meet his expectations.”

“Oh man,” she winces. “I know that feeling. Well, I hope your soulmate is alright.”

“I as well, Dr. Zhou,” he sighs as he turns to leave. “I as well.”

∆V∆V∆

No one answers the door. He tries knocking and the doorbell. Nothing. A quick search of the porch comes up empty; clearly both Shimadas are responsible with their keys. He can’t just break in, so he sits on the porch and waits. For what, he isn’t sure. After an hour, he shifts into lotus position and closes his eyes, breathing.

The sun is almost setting by the time he comes back to himself, relaxing back into reality.

Standing, he knocks again. This time he calls out.

“Genji? Please open the door. I want to see you.” He isn’t entirely sure where the words come from, or whether they even make a difference, but the Iris has yet to lead him astray, so he trusts. “Nothing you could say or do would ever make me like you less. Please, Genji. I need you.”

Several long seconds pass, and he wonders if  _ anything  _ he does will make a difference. Then the door clicks open, and Genji stands in the crack, wearing sweatpants and a baggie hoodie. He doesn’t look at Zenyatta, and his cheeks are stained with old tear tracks, eyes red and puffed.

“I won’t ask how you found me,” Genji mutters, letting the door stand open as he turns away, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle. “Come in.”

“Is it bad today?” Zenyatta asks quietly, chest aching at the thought that Genji has been suffering alone. He steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him.

“Something like that,” Genji answers, sitting down on the couch and drawing his legs up, huddling into the corner. Zenyatta lowers himself slowly beside him.

“What is going on in your head, Genji?” he asks, carefully reaching out. The moment fingers touch Genji’s arm, he jolts sharply, inhaling a jagged gasp and flinching into himself. Zenyatta quickly pulls his hand back, concerned, as Genji chokes back a sob, shuddering.

That... is not anxiety or depression. Zenyatta is viscerally familiar with the way Genji is acting right now.

“Genji... Who- Who hurt you?” The only response he gets is a head shake. “Talk to me, Genji; I cannot help you if you do not tell me what happened.”

“You can’t help me,” Genji hisses, vicious and pained. He refuses to look at Zenyatta, hiding his face in his knees.

He’s not going to get anything from the suffering man right now; he knows all too well how little control Genji must feel he has at the moment, knows that all he can do is step back and let Genji process his emotions first. Sighing, he stands, and goes into the kitchen. It takes him a moment to find what he’s looking for, but one or the other of the brothers must be a decent cook, because there are plenty of supplies, so he makes a quick, simple meal and a cup of chamomile tea.

“Eat, drink; get some sleep, Genji,” he says, placing it all on the coffee table in front of the poor, traumatised man. “It will help.”

“Nothing will help... Nothing  _ can _ help...”

As much as he hates it, the helplessness, there is nothing else Zenyatta can do. With great reluctance, he leaves, taking a bus back to the monastery. When he arrives, he goes straight to Mondatta’s room, disappointed and mildly annoyed to find he isn’t there. The garden is also empty, but the winter preparations aren’t quite done yet, so no doubt Mondatta will be back soon. However, he can’t wait, so he checks the sanctuary instead.

“You are frustrated.” Zenyatta snaps around to see Mondatta in a corner, lighting candles. “Your chakras are falling out of balance. Your colours are... muted. Muddied. Something happened?”

“I am afraid so,” he answers, folding his hands in front of him and rubbing his thumb across sei he ki reiki symbol on the inside of his wrist. How can there be mental and spiritual healing in a relationship like this? “Genji...”

“He pushed you away,” Mondatta notes, blowing out the match he was using.

“Something happened to him,” Zenyatta states, nails digging into his marked palm. “If it is what I fear, then...”

“What do you fear?” Mondatta asks, turning to face him and waiting patiently.

“...You remember... when you found me...”

“Ahh. And you think it is the same thing here.”

“He flinched away from my touch, Mondatta. He was  _ crying _ . That is not who he is; he would never-” He stops himself, already knowing what Mondatta is going to say.

“You  _ know _ who he is? After how long?”

“...Thirty-three days,” Zenyatta answers quietly. “And four hours.” Mondatta laughs wryly, reaching out to take his hands.

“There are some things you cannot change, Zenyatta. No matter how hard you try. You understand that, do you not?”

“I asked you,” Zenyatta says persistently, fighting back the burn behind his eyes, “last night... about this.” He pulls his hand from Mondatta’s and turns it to show the sei he ki. “How can I stand back and let him suffer alone when  _ this _ is here? Is this not the will of the Iris? Is that not what you have told me so many times since you took me in?  _ This _ is what I am meant to do!” He meets his mentor’s gaze, knowing full well that he can see things Zenyatta never could; he knows things about Zenyatta that even Zenyatta doesn’t know. “...Am I even capable of it?”

“...Are you?”

“Mondatta...”

“When I found you,” the older man says, turning away and striding toward the living quarters, “do you remember the first thing you said to me?” Zenyatta grimaces but conjures up the memory anyway.

“I told you... that I could do anything you wanted for food and a night in a bed.”

“You also said,” Mondatta hums, “that if I wanted something you did not know how to do, you would learn. Tell me, little one... Do those sound like the words of a man incapable of helping his lover through the darkness?”

“But...” Zenyatta hesitates, uncertain where his unease originates.

“But?” Mondatta prompts, glancing sidelong at him.

“This and that are two different things.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Frustrated, Zenyatta moves in front of his mentor, stopping him. “I was a wreck back then; I am supposed to be stronger now. I needed someone to help me then, and now I need to be the one to help, but I-”

“The events are the same, my student,” Mondatta says simply when he breaks off. “The only difference... is on which side you stand.” Zenyatta considers that, and Mondatta takes his arm, guiding him onward to the living quarters. “Why did you seek me out tonight?”

“I- I needed advice,” Zenyatta answers softly. “More than the comfort I could find in the Iris.”

“And yet you fight every word I say,” Mondatta notes, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You already have the answers you seek, but you are too afraid to face your past in order to perceive them.”

“That is not-”

“I know you, Zenyatta. I have been with you every step of your transformation, and I am proud of who you have become. But there are places you must go that I can not go with you.” Stopping in front of Zenyatta’s room, Mondatta takes his hand and traces a finger along the length of his mark. “These symbols... A relationship goes two ways; these are as much for you as they are for him. There is a rebirth in store for  _ both _ of you, and you need healing and support as much as he does. I have done much for you, but this... is between you and him; I have no part in it. I care for you, Zenyatta, truly ― I would not have taken you in and taught you if I did not ― but I cannot help you anymore. Not in this. Sleep, my student, and go see him tomorrow. I have every faith you will figure it out, together.”

∆V∆V∆

Five days. Zenyatta goes to the Shimada apartment every morning for five days. Every time, Genji lets him in, but refuses to talk or be touched. Zenyatta makes him food and drink, sits quietly with him for the first two or three days, and then begins talking about life in the monastery, only a few words at first, but opening up more as the days stretch, until he fills most of the day with idle chatter. Genji never engages, hardly even greeting him every morning.

“...The build-up of snow was so precarious that just calling out shook it loose, and it collapsed on top of Mondatta,” Zenyatta chuckles, setting a plate of food and a cup of red rooibos on the coffee table. He almost misses the quiet little huff of air and the faint twitch of a smile at Genji’s lips, and the tiny victory blossoms warm in his chest.

“It hasn’t stopped snowing for days,” Genji notes quietly, shifting forward to pick at the plate and bring a bit of food to his lips.

“Mm. The weather is supposed to clear up tomorrow night, and the forecast predicts a warm front through most of next week. Just in time for your return to classes; I hate to think of how much snow you must walk through every day...”

“Classes...” Genji echoes. To Zenyatta’s dismay, all of the progress he’s made is completely undone as the man shuts down entirely, curling in on himself with fear and horror etched into his features.

“Genji,” he sighs, sorrowful. “Please, my dear... I want to help you.”

“I don’t deserve help,” Genji whispers. “Not from you. Or anyone, but especially you.”

“Why not?” Zenyatta feels as though he’s begging, but Genji doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re... pure,” Genji murmurs, almost inaudible.

“Pur- Genji, I am anything but,” Zenyatta insists, reaching for his shoulder and stopping himself. Drawing his hand back and staring at the symbols woven between the vines of their mark, he takes a deep breath, silently pleading with the Iris for strength to expose himself. “I never knew my parents; my first memory is of hunger, clawing through a dumpster for food. I spent long, harsh years learning to survive a world intent on breaking me down. I- I did things... that I regret. Many things.” Another deep breath, and he closes his eyes, hands folded tightly in his lap. “By sixteen, I was- turning tricks. For food, and a warm place to stay. That is how I met Mondatta; I- I propositioned him on a night not so different than this. He turned me down, but took me in for the night. One night turned into more, and I never left. The things I have done... I am  _ not _ pure, and I never have been.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Genji winces. “I didn’t mean... I’m sorry.”

“I swear, Genji; whatever happened, I will not judge you. Please... talk to me.”

“...I can’t. I’m sorry, Zen; I can’t...”

“Alright,” Zenyatta allows. After all, this is the most Genji has said since the first day; that is enough of a win to leave it at that. “I am here whenever you are ready, my dear.”

To his surprise, Genji sighs softly and slumps toward him, shoulders bumping. He rests his temple on Zenyatta’s shoulder, and Zenyatta wordlessly thanks the Iris, leaning his cheek on Genji’s hair.

One step at a time.

∆V∆V∆

A gentle tap at the door wakes him, and he blinks into the darkness for a moment, getting his bearings. Then he quickly stands and moves to open the door. Mondatta stands there, fingers laced together at his waist.

“The sun is not up,” Zenyatta notes, words sleep-slurred. “Can it wait?”

“No,” Mondatta smiles sadly, shifting aside to reveal... Genji.

“Genji!” More awake now, Zenyatta reaches out, stopping himself before he touches. Genji is bundles in a hoodie beneath his coat, and thick jeans over sturdy boots; everything is wet with melted snowflakes, and Zenyatta’s chest tightens with the realisation that Genji walked here from his apartment. “Oh, you must be freezing; come here.” He ushers Genji in, going to the bed and pulling his blanket from it.

“I will bring hot drinks,” Mondatta states, closing the door for them even as Zenyatta dips his head in appreciation.

“Take off your coat,” he coaxes. “Wrap up in this.” Genji wordlessly obeys, his movements mechanical and automatic. “What happened?”

“...Hanzo is back.”

“That is not a good thing?” Genji shakes his head, and Zenyatta sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Do you want to talk?” Another shake, and Genji leans against him, trembling faintly. Zenyatta takes what he can get, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close.

When the trembling eases, Zenyatta shifts, absently kissing the top of Genji’s head.

“Stay here for the rest of the night,” he bids quietly. “I want to help, but... I can do nothing if you are not nearby.” A hesitant nod sparks relief, and he pulls Genji into a short hug. “Alright. Shoes off, but the rest can stay, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Genji whispers.

In a few moments, he’s spooned up against Zenyatta, who delights in the fact that he chose to do so himself, without prompting. But it only lasts a few short seconds before Genji shudders and turns to face him, eyes wide with barely contained fear.

“Genji?”

“I was raped.” The words come out in a rush, and Genji shuts his eyes tightly, chin quivering. He chokes on a sob, and Zenyatta struggles not to grab him in a tight embrace.

“Oh... Oh, Genji...”

“He- called me a liar,” Genji gasps, placing his hand firmly against Zenyatta’s chest, fingers digging in desperately.

“Who did?” Zenyatta demands, horrified.

“Han- Hanzo... He s- said I-” Another sob. “I’m not lying...”

“I know. I know, Genji. I need you to breathe for me, okay? Just like before. Breathe in; hold it. Good. Breathe out; hold it. Just like that. In, hold. Out, hold.” There’s a gentle knock at the door and Genji stiffens, panicked. Zenyatta catches his shoulders, keeping him still. “No, no; stay. You are safe here. That would be Mondatta. Just keep breathing, alright?”

Rising, he goes to the door and cracks it open, hiding Genji from view. Mondatta isn’t even there; he left a tray with two large mugs on the floor just outside, and Zenyatta marvels at his perception. Taking the tray, he moves it to the table, closing the door behind him, and returns to the bed, settling beside Genji, who is quieter now, still taking shaky breaths in time with the rhythm Zenyatta set for him.

“Better?” he hums when Genji’s breathing evens out and the fear fades into hopelessness. A faint nod is his only answer, followed by a slow shift to snuggle closer. He wraps his arms around the man, gently stroking his hair. “Can you talk about it?” A small shake no.

Silence hovers for a long time, until Zenyatta is certain that Genji truly won’t speak. So he speaks instead.

“When I was... eleven, twelve; I am not entirely sure... I dared to try shoplifting from a corner store because none of the dumpsters in the area had any leftover food. The owner caught me. I begged him not to call the police, and I will never forget the look on his face when he asked how I should be punished, then.” He hesitates, unsure how much he’s willing to share, and eventually just glosses over the details. “It was not the first time I offered my mouth to stay out of trouble, and it would not be the last. It was, however, the first time I had to give more. I could not walk for the rest of the day, and sitting was out of the question for a week after.

“Shortly after I turned fifteen, I was... entertaining at a customer’s home. I did not know she was married until her husband returned. Along with three of his friends. I was and still am a fighter, but even I could do nothing against four much larger men.” For a moment he goes quiet, trying to separate himself from the memories. “They passed me around like a toy, and even the woman took part. It was, bar none, the worst experience of my life.”

“...Why are you telling me?” Genji whispers against his chest, perplexed. “I would never be able to speak of it.”

“For that very reason,” Zenyatta explains, tightening his hold for a moment and pressing his lips to Genji’s temple. “You cannot speak the grief in your heart, so I will speak it for you, through my own experience.”

“But you’ve suffered so much worse...”

“What kills the pup merely injures the wolf; I have grown accustomed to the hardships of this life, but that does not invalidate your own suffering. They are on different scales entirely and cannot be compared.”

“...I- I found out... the day after,” Genji says quietly, tracing his fingertips in circles just beneath Zenyatta’s collarbone. “...It was- There was a- a news article; popped up on my phone the next morning... A serial rapist in the area.” His voice breaks on the words, and he curls his fist against Zenyatta’s chest. “I was- wasn’t even targeted; he was on the r- the run from... from the cops and j- just looking for one more...”

“Oh Genji...”

“Am I s- so worthless that I’m not even worth paying attention to?” Genji sobs.

“No; no, Genji... You are  _ not _ worthless. You are incredible.”

“My own brother thinks I’m lazy, a liar; my father said  _ to my face _ that if I couldn’t get good grades, then I was of no use to him.”

“Neither of them see you, Genji,” Zenyatta persists. “They are so caught up in how they believe the world should be that they cannot see how magnificent you are.”

“You are biased,” Genji growls.

“Perhaps. But do you know what my first impression of you was?” He threads his fingers through Genji’s hair. “Diligent. Concerned. Intelligent... Isolated. You have an amazing mind, Genji; I have seen it in class, and in every one of our talks. If I am truthful, you are wasted on the future your father has planned for you.”

“I’m not-”

“You are capable of so much more... but I understand that you are not ready to think of things like that. I just want to make it clear that you are anything  _ but _ worthless.”

“...Maybe,” Genji whispers, laying his hand flat against Zenyatta’s chest, “one day, I can believe it too.”

∆V∆V∆

“You could call in sick,” Zenyatta hums, startling Genji.

“...I didn’t know you were awake.” He glances at the monk, rubbing a hand over his neck.

“I sleep light; I have been awake since you got up.”

“That was before sunrise,” he frowns. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“You are not sleeping well, are you? Come here.” Zenyatta sits up, gesturing, but Genji just shakes his head.

“I need to go home; I’m gonna be late for class.”

“Are you ready for it?” Genji’s hesitation is just long enough, and the monk sighs, smiling gently. “Would you like me to walk you to class?”

On the one hand, the offer prompts a surge of hopeful relief, but on the other, Genji doesn’t want to feel so weak that he can’t walk somewhere alone anymore. After all, he made it from the apartment to the monastery alone.

Then again, that journey was fueled by shamed desperation. And he isn’t sure if he dares return home while Hanzo is there, ready to sneer at him and accuse him of lying again. At least if Zenyatta is there, Hanzo won’t say anything; his sense of familial pride is too much like their father’s to admit that anyone in the family, even the black sheep, would be so weak.

“I don’t want to impose,” he mutters, still hesitant. “I’m sure you have a lot to do here...”

“There is no responsibility I have that cannot be postponed to ensure your safety, my dear,” Zenyatta says gently, rising from the bed and going to the dresser. Genji looks away, pointedly ignoring the rise of heat in his cheeks at the sight of the monk’s bare chest; how he didn’t die of embarrassment last night is an utter mystery.

“I’m sorry.” The words are off his tongue before he can stop them.

“For what?” Zenyatta asks, glancing over his shoulder as he tugs on a thick grey sweater and exchanges soft pants for dark jeans. It’s an unusual look for a monk, but suits him well, especially now that Genji has seen the uniqueness of his personality.

“For... burdening you with my troubles,” he answers hesitantly.

“Genji,” the monk says softly, stepping closer and rolling up his sleeve to show the mark. “A relationship goes two ways; every piece of this mark applies just as much to me as it does to you.” Genji nods, not really believing it, and by the small sigh that escapes Zenyatta, he has no doubt the monk knows. “Come; if you want to be on time to your classes, we should leave now. We can stop at the Twisted Bean or another cafe somewhere along the way for breakfast.”

Again Genji simply nods, allowing Zenyatta to lead the way but staying close to his side. They walk in silence the entire way, however it isn’t as stifling as he would have expected; the worst is a moment of awkward tension when Zenyatta unexpectedly takes his hand, threading their fingers together. It lasts only seconds though; he revels in the sense of safety that settles on him because of it and tightens his hold, delighted by the warm smile the monk bestows on him that chases away the chill of the early winter morning.

When they arrive at the Shimada apartment, Genji is just reaching for the lock when the door opens, and for a moment, no one moves; Hanzo stares rather blankly at the pair of them, and then scowls.

“A new low even for you,” he hisses lowly, glaring at Genji. Without waiting for a response, he shoulders roughly past, not even deigning to acknowledge Zenyatta’s presence. The monk frowns after him, but Genji barely notices; a hopelessness settles on him, a heavy cloak of despair, and he’s fairly certain he’s about to sink into another anxiety attack, judging by the lightheadedness and the fact that he can’t breathe.

“Genji,” Zenyatta murmurs, lightly touching his shoulder. “Breathe...” Nodding, Genji obeys, breathing as steadily as he can manage. “Good. Go get cleaned up and ready for class.”

Too numb to think for himself, Genji obeys again, going through the motions without really caring what he’s doing.

“There is not enough time to stop at a cafe, so I made you something here,” Zenyatta states when he steps out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. “Sit. Eat.”

Some tiny part of him recognises that the monk is ordering him around, surprisingly dominant for so gentle and peaceable a monk; he can’t bring himself to care. It’s... calming, in a way. He doesn’t  _ have _ to think.

As he eats, he watches Zenyatta clean the kitchen with seemingly endless patience. It occurs to him that in spite of everything, the monk has refused to leave his side. Maybe because he feels honour-bound to stay with a soulmate, but maybe ― Genji dares to hope ― because something very real has begun to form between them.

“Thank you,” he whispers, too quiet for Zenyatta to possibly hear, but sincere nonetheless. Zenyatta glances at him, smiling.

“You are ever welcome, my dear.”

∆V∆V∆

Genji spends most of the next six weeks at the monastery. He learned the yamas and niyamas quickly ― ethical disciplines and moral conducts ― but didn’t quite understand how to implement most of them in his life, a process that is still ongoing. The asanas, the poses, came easily; within the first week, Zenyatta could name a pose and he could do it without hesitation. The breathing exercises, pranayama, came even easier, thanks to Zenyatta’s previous assistance.

Pratyahara, the practice of self-study, is where he experienced a setback. Diving into his own mind was not something he wanted to do, no matter how much Zenyatta coaxed him, so Zenyatta held him back from the next step. Despite that, their relationship grew with no signs of faltering; Genji stopped going to clubs altogether, and not just for fear of being assaulted again.

But what is a relationship without trials?

Two days into Christmas break, Genji and Zenyatta are just settling down with cups of hot cocoa after helping shovel snow from the main paths of the monastery when Genji’s phone pings. Thinking it a weather update, he grabs it to dismiss the notification, and his humour, which has vastly improved over the past weeks, drops away completely.

“Genji?” Zenyatta cocks his head, reaching over to rest his hand on Genji’s knee. “What is it, my dear?”

“...Hanzo.” Genji’s expression is tight and fearful when he looks up at the man who’s made his life worth living again. “My father is here. And I’m supposed to meet him in half an hour.”

“Well, then we had best get our coats,” Zenyatta hums, standing and setting his mug down.

“No, Zen, I-” Genji breaks off, biting his lip and staring at his phone.

“...You want to do this on your own?” Zenyatta doesn’t sound upset or offended, but he does sound mildly disappointed.

“I-” Genji hesitates, locking the phone and tapping it lightly against his lips as he tries to figure out how to phrase his thoughts. “I just- You don’t deserve the humiliation I’m going to have to suffer.”

“Genji...” Zenyatta chides, kneeling in front of him and taking his hand. Turning his own over, he sets it in Genji’s, lotus marking facing up. “You have come so far, my dear. Every new piece is another step toward your rebirth.” He traces the lotus, and turns his hand over to brush a finger over the new triskelion between his thumb and forefinger that appeared a few weeks ago. “In spite of everything, you persist. If you believe you are ready to face this yourself, then go with my blessing. But never dare to tell me what I do or do not deserve; what we deserve and what we get are very rarely the same, and I thank the Iris everyday that I got you instead of what I deserve.”

Still faltering, Genji places his free hand against his bicep, where his own triskelion lies hidden beneath his shirt.

“I guess I should be thanking the Iris too,” he says finally. “Because I most definitely do not deserve you.” Zenyatta smiles warmly in response and leans up to touch a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I will get your coat,” he hums, standing and caressing Genji’s cheek lightly as he leaves.

Genji smiles back, but the moment the monk is out of sight, he lets out a sigh, scrubbing both hands over his face. He covers his triskelion, gripping his arm tightly. Zenyatta is right about one thing... in spite of everything, he fully intends on getting through this. There’s an end to this trial, and he’s going to make it. With Zenyatta right beside him.

∆V∆V∆

“I’m home,” Genji sighs, toeing off his boots and shrugging off his coat. He’s taking Zenyatta’s coat to hang it up when a cold voice makes him stiffen.

“Welcome home.” Sojiro’s tone is anything but welcoming, and he stands with his arms crossed at the entrance to the main room, a steely look in his dark gaze.

“Hello, Father,” Genji greets coolly, hanging up his and Zenyatta’s coats on the coat tree by the door.

“Hanzo told me you’re bringing your  _ conquests _ home now.” Sojiro casts a narrow look at Zenyatta, who returns his gaze evenly, unruffled by the hostility. “Have you no shame?”

“Zen isn’t a  _ conquest _ , Father,” Genji bites out, acutely aware of the fact that he’s been barred from entering the rest of the apartment for this discussion. “He’s my soulmate. But that’s not something you understand, is it?”

“Because your grades have not slipped, I will pretend you did not just disrespect me so blatantly,” Sojiro growls. “And if you can present your mark, I will accept your explanation.”

Without hesitation, Genji yanks his collar down roughly, baring the lotus, and then shoves his sleeve up to show how far down his arm the mark has reached. Eying it, Sojiro humphs and turns an expectant look on Zenyatta. The monk is already calmly rolling up his sleeve to display as much of his mark as he can, turning his palm up to show the matching lotus.

“...Mm-hm. I certainly hope you have as acceptable an explanation for the claim that you’ve been raped.”

Genji stiffens, breath catching, and without even thinking, he grabs for Zenyatta’s hand. For a moment, he swears he’s going to panic. Zenyatta squeezes his hand comfortingly, and he remembers to breathe.

“It isn’t a claim,” Genji says, keeping his voice even. “It’s the truth.”

“No,” Sojiro states, like saying it will make it true. “I suppose you’re going to say that you forgot all of your self-defense lessons too.”

“I didn’t get a chance to use them,” Genji snaps. “I was attacked from behind.” He cuts off when Sojiro makes a vicious sound, stepping closer.

“I will not tolerate lies, Genji!”

“I’m not lying!”

Sojiro’s hand comes up, ready to backhand his son, and Genji flinches reactively. But the blow never lands. Genji dares to look up, and blinks in surprise to see a blank look of shock on his father’s face, wrist caught in Zenyatta’s grip.

“I understand that you are his father,” the monk says calmly. “However, I would appreciate it if you did not hit my boyfriend in front of me.”

Taken aback, Sojiro doesn’t react for several long seconds. Long enough for Zenyatta to smile lightly and let go of his wrist, holding his hand up to show he means no harm.

For as long as he lives, Genji doubts he will ever understand how Zenyatta can be so calm in situations like this.

Then it hits him, that Zenyatta called Genji his boyfriend, and heat explodes up his neck and into his face. He covers his mouth to hide a delighted grin, watching the monk step back and casually tuck his hands in his pockets.

“Are you alright?” Zenyatta asks, tipping his head with an amused smirk.

“Never better,” Genji answers, certain the monk knows exactly what he did.

“You...” Sojiro speaks up coldly, destroying the moment. “I don’t know who you are, and beyond being my son’s soulmate, you have no significance to me. Even that is pointless, superfluous; when the time comes, he will be married to further the family business.”

Icy horror floods through Genji. “Wh- Father, I-!”

“And I will not,” Sojiro continues, raising his voice but otherwise ignoring him, “have a stranger tell me how to deal with my family. Genji, your  _ flings _ are over. You will be graduating this spring, and between now and then, you will be meeting the women I have picked out for you; by the time you have your diploma in hand, I expect you to have made a choice.”

Genji isn’t sure where the courage comes from, but he doesn’t even miss a beat.

“I  _ have _ made my choice!” he exclaims, grabbing Zenyatta’s wrist and threading their fingers together when the monk slides his hand back. “I’m staying with Zenyatta, and nothing you say will change my mind!”

“That is  _ not _ an option,” Sojiro growls in warning. “You have a duty to uphold the family name, a duty you have thus far neglected. I’ve had enough of your wayward behaviour; you  _ will _ obey me, or I-”

“Or you’ll what?” Genji cuts in fiercely. He shifts forward, still clinging to Zenyatta’s hand for strength. “Disown me? Do it then. Cut me off; tear away the family name I never wanted in the first place. Free me, damnit!”

“You are  _ nothing _ without the Shimada name,” Sojiro sneers. “A lazy playboy with no future!”

“I would rather be a lazy playboy with no future than a tool to be crushed by an industry that isn’t even legal!”

A ragged silence follows the accusation, Sojiro once again stunned, and Genji heaving under the force of his pent-up frustration and anger, no longer even close to panicking. Not with Zenyatta at his side.

“That’s right,” he hisses past gritted teeth. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out that our family is yakuza? Or were you just expecting me to turn a blind eye? Or worse, take part? Those self-defense classes were far more than self-defense, and I’ve heard the conversations you thought were private. I know exactly what goes on behind closed doors and I don’t want  _ any _ part of it!” Without letting go of Zenyatta’s hand, he shoves his feet into his boots, not even bothering to tie the laces as he grabs Zenyatta’s coat and hands it to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sojiro demands.

“Away from you,” Genji growls back, releasing Zenyatta’s hand just long enough for them to don their coats.

“If you walk out now,” Sojiro warns, “you’re no longer a Shimada. You will lose this place, and I won’t pay for your schooling.”

“Fine by me,” Genji scoffs, zipping up his coat as he turns a dark look on the man who brought him into the world. “I’ve been thinking it’s time to reconsider my major anyway.”

∆V∆V∆

“Genji,” Zenyatta hums, placing his hands on Genji’s shoulders and squeezing gently. “Have you checked your mark since leaving your family?”

The amusement in his tone distracts Genji from the papers he’s filling out to change his major. He tips his head back to look up at the monk, who grins down at him. Curious, Genji nudges his hand aside to tug down his collar, peering down. Startled, he sits forward, yanking at his shirt to see more, and finally just removing his shirt entirely while Zenyatta laughs.

It’s coloured. Every piece of the mark, from the base of his neck down across his chest and all the length of his arm, including the pempamsie that was added the night he walked out on his father, is vivid with bright, full colours.

Genji breathes a short sigh of surprise, gaze jumping to Zenyatta’s. With a cry of delight, he jumps up, throwing his arms around the monk.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much.”

“And I you,” Zenyatta chuckles, holding his tightly. “We have a long way to go, my love. Are you ready for the next step?”

“Yes. And the next, and the next.” Genji pulls back enough to rest his forehead against Zenyatta’s, cupping his jaw and savouring the thought of a future with him. “We’ll find samadhi together.”

“And be reborn,” Zenyatta agrees, leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
